


That's How We Come

by oceaxe



Category: Venom (Movie 2018)
Genre: Anal Sex, Other, Rimming, tendril sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 08:58:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16302092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceaxe/pseuds/oceaxe
Summary: Lately I’ve learned that there’s a--what’s the word? Like an airlock between a thought coming up and then becoming more conscious. If I catch things there, Venom can’t see them. Feel them. Whatever. It’s useful but Christ, it’s exhausting. Never being able to fully think the things I need to think about.Like how I’m ever going to be able to fuck again.





	That's How We Come

**Author's Note:**

> Being present at the birth of a new fandom is more exciting than I anticipated! I couldn't help but want to add to the furious outpouring of Venom fic. I hope you all enjoy this little exploration of their dynamic the way I've been enjoying yours.

 

So far, having a shapeshifting hellspawn alien living rent-free in my brain is going okay. As long as I think of it as having a roommate. A sort of boundary-pushing, giblet-eating roommate who, on the plus side, doesn’t steal all my beer. I’m as surprised as anyone, given my reputation for maybe not being the most considerate person to share space with. What with things like forgetting to replace the empty milk carton or wash the dishes. Or feed the cat.

Thing is, Venom doesn’t give a fuck about dishes. And we don’t have a cat; mostly because Venom would eat it and I’m allergic.

This whole thing would be much weirder without Venom’s voice constantly around me, echoing in my bones. There’s no way I can forget it’s here, so I’m not surprised by stuff like a tendril appearing to get the coffee filters while I grind the beans. Or the rippling under my clothes as it winds around my torso to pop out of my collar and lick the hot dog I’m trying to eat.

It basically narrates everything it’s going to do, which almost makes up for the fact that I can’t read its mind the way it can mine.

It can’t see everything that goes on in my head, but if the thoughts in my head get loud enough, it can definitely hear them. And I don’t always want it to hear them. It can also sift through my memories if my guard is down, like when I’m sleepy or buzzed. And we can feel everything the other feels. Which mostly means I get to feel hungry or confused most of the time. Although I really like feeling when it’s pleased, especially when it’s pleased because I am. It forms this sort of feedback loop of both of us feeling… pleased. Which is, you know. Nice.

Sometimes too nice.

Lately I’ve learned that there’s a--what’s the word? Like an airlock between a thought coming up and then becoming more conscious. Like an intermediate stage. More like a backstage. If I catch things there, before they sneak past the proscenium of the theater that my mind has become, Venom can’t see them. Feel them. Whatever. It’s useful but Christ it’s exhausting. Never being able to fully think the things I need to think about.

Like how I’m ever going to be able to fuck again.

For one.

Like how to explain that while I miss Anne, I don’t want to go back to her. Not like this.

Like how to explain that if I had my choice, I’d stay like this forever. If I could just f…. Don’t think that.

I can’t even think about why I don’t want to think that. Why I don’t want Venom to know. It has to stay down. Down, boy.

With Anne, you know, even though we lived together for a year, I never could just be myself, not completely. Having to hold in farts, picking my nose in the bathroom, you know, like--censoring myself. To be better for her. She deserved it. Well actually, she demanded it. She had standards, ones I had to step up to. It was good for me in some ways, I guess. But god, I hated it.

I guess I am a loser, if my definition of intimacy is being able to fart in front of someone without feeling bad.

By that definition, I’m more intimate with Venom than I ever was with Anne.

Huh.

I mean, yeah. I can hear what it’s thinking, so that kinda ratchets up the intimacy by default. Its thoughts don’t merge with mine, the difference is pretty obvious. But they’re present in a way that’s impossible to describe.

Imagine knowing what your, uh, your partner is thinking most of the time. You wouldn’t have to guess if your anniversary present was good enough, you’d just know. Fuck, you’d know what to get in the first place without even stressing about it. You’d know if you were touching them right, if they were really enjoying it or just faking it to get it over with.

Imagine sharing a fantasy without having to speak. Imagine feeling your partner, fuck it, your _lover’s_ pleasure like your own. Building it together, the sensations belonging to both of you. To us.

_We would feel so good._

Shit, that thought almost made it all the way up. I mentally back away, focus on the news that’s been droning for the past two hours while Venom surfs the internet. Looks like Drake’s foundation is getting sued by about a million different plaintiffs. I should be interested in that, I know I should, but my mind can’t settle on it. Instead, I think about feeling good.

I haven’t come in nearly two months. It’s shifting from irritation to physical need, a build-up of pressure in my balls. I’m storing too much jizz, it has to come out somehow. Venom’s lucky it doesn’t have a dick, or gonads.

 _How would Venom come?_ The traitorous thought floats up out of nowhere, and it’s so compelling I can’t quite keep it suppressed. The word “come” echoes in my brain, getting louder with each repetition, and all too soon, I feel Venom’s attention split between the 24 hour news cycle and my stupid ass thoughts.

**Why do I need to come, Eddie? I am already here.**

“You sure are, big guy,” I say. But it’s not fooled, since it can feel my adrenaline.

**What is come? There is another meaning.**

I stare at its' black shiny dome, eyes blank, rifling through any other meanings of that word. But there’s just the two.

“Coming is just… it’s a human thing, you wouldn’t understand.” This has never stopped it wanting to understand before, I don't even know why I'm trying.

**I share your body. When do you “come”? Have you come with me inside you?**

I nearly choke at that. Thank god it can’t hear every last thought. I wish it would watch some Pornhub, though, instead of the CNN all the damn time. Then at least we wouldn’t be having this horrific conversation.

“No,” I manage to say.

**Ah. Then it can’t be very important. I’ve been with you for months now.**

“Well, it is _kinda_ important,” I hear myself muttering sarcastically, and want to stuff something in my mouth to stop it from saying anything else.

**Then I must know about it.**

For a minute, I really do think about sending it to Pornhub. But that just seems irresponsible. I owe it a decent explanation. Like giving your kid “the talk.

Sort of. Except your kid is a murderous puddle of slime that can grow teeth and bulging muscles in the blink of an eye. Oh yeah, and read most of your thoughts.

Okay, I’ll keep it clinical. I’ll give it a biology lesson and everyone can get back to work, no harm no foul.

“It’s a biological process, it’s, uh, related to reproduction.”

**I don’t see. Is it giving birth?**

“It’s…” I suppress a hysterical laugh. “No. It’s not giving birth.”

 **Then what is it?** It sounds impatient now, it knows I’m hiding something important.

  
“It’s a feeling, kind of, or like a seizure that happens when people are doing the thing that makes a baby.”

God, that might be the worst explanation of coming ever. I’m flunking this “talk.”  A _seizure_?

**It sounds unhealthy. What is the purpose?**

“The purpose is to make you want to do it. To… make babies.”  
  
**Humans would not want make babies otherwise? Humans are very stupid. I am beginning to doubt my decision to save this planet.**

“No, babies are great,” I say, although I’m really not all that big a fan. I just don’t want to represent humanity as a bunch of losers who have to be tricked into reproducing. “Yay, babies.”

**I still do not understand.**

I’m starting to get exasperated now. It’s been a long couple months and I’ve gone from being a cool guy with his own tv show (local, but still), with a hot, rich fiancee who’s also a badass lawyer, to… this.

Naw, that’s not true. I wasn’t ever really a cool guy. I’ve always _wanted_ to be a cool guy. No actual cool guy has to prove how cool he is by riding a motorcycle. Fuck, I was scared shitless the first six months I owned it. Had to take lessons, finally, just to get some use out of the fucking thing. No truly cool guy has to take motorcycle lessons.

**It’s okay Eddie, I am not cool.**

Yet again, I’m struck by how clearly it can read my thoughts when I’m not keeping them down.

“Well, you’re pretty fucking cool here. Not much in a 100 mile radius that’s cooler.”  Now I’m hoping to distract it from the “come” issue by feeding its ego. Its ego and its metabolism - it’s hard to say which is greedier.

**Thank you. But the things that make me cool here, they are things that every symbiote has. Strength. Adaptability. Fluidity.**

“What made you not cool on your world?”

Klyntar. An image of his homeworld -- not much of a world actually, more like a crowded void, a pit of demons-- sits on my inner eye. A writhing mass of metallic sludge folds in and around on itself, impossible to tell one symbiote from the next.

**I felt that the bond was paramount to our function as a symbiote. That in order for the Klyntar to flourish, we needed to treat the host as equal. If we are one, the hosts are of equal value as us, no matter where they come from. Riot said I was weak, sentimental. Only a pussy longs for intimacy with its host.**

“You really need to stop using that word, it’s offensive.”

**How so?**

I push an image of Anne at him. “It’s a long story but that word basically means that people like Anne are less than people like me.”

**Anne is superior to you in nearly every way.**

“I know that,” I say lightly, still feeling the burn of its truth.

**But you are stronger. Bigger. We are a better match.**

“Better looking too,” I joke. It’s a joke, 100%. Anne is perfect, I’m a sweaty mess.

**You are not a sweaty mess.**

Something about that voice--and okay, I can admit it, the voice is sexy--saying “sweaty mess” has me turning into, well. A sweaty mess.

“I’m not at my best right now.”

**Your systems are running optimally.**

Not all of them, I almost think.

 **Which one is…** Venom goes quiet.

“What?”

**Yes. I see what you mean. There is a need.**

Oh shit. Why did I ever let us go down this road? Why didn’t I just pull up a sex-ed curriculum and pretend I wanted to know how symbiotes reproduce?

**Explain the need, Eddie.**

“I… look. Look.” There’s no good way to explain this without Venom… without Venom… I really can’t even think it. But I know it. When Venom cottons on, it’s going to be inescapable.

Venom unfurls from where it’s been lurking just under my collarbone and manifests its face in front of mine.

**I am looking.**

“I didn’t mean literally, you doof,” I say, shying away. For having two eyes that look like Elmer’s glue poured in a mold, its stare is pretty piercing. Penetrating.

God damn it.

**It is related to reproduction. It is related to coming.**

“Well,” I hedge. But there’s nowhere to hedge to. There are no hedges here, no walls, nowhere to hide. It’s right.

“Yeah,” I sigh. “I need to come.”

**Then do so.**

A hysterical laugh bubbles out of me. I imagine whipping it out and having a go. No way. “Okay, well, it’s not that easy.”

**Do you need help?**

I wonder if there’s any Valium in the apartment. No, I took the last of those weeks ago. Before Venom showed up. Besides, it wouldn’t work on its alien biology, anyway. Now that it’s aware of the issue, it would just go rummaging in my memories until it found what it wanted.

There’s an idea.

Not a perfect idea, not even a great idea. It’s probably a terrible idea, but it saves me the humiliation of trying to explain this.

“Can you just…” I push an image, reluctantly, of myself having a grand old time with, what else, Pornhub. Fucking into my fist, spurting over my hand, slumping against the couch cushions with a dazed look on my face. God, I look like an idiot after coming.

**You look happy. Relaxed. It is good for you to do this.**

“Hm, yeah. I guess.” More like crucial. Critical. Necessary. Venom is smug at overhearing those internal corrections, I can feel it in my veins. I blush.

I’m so squeamish, it’s like being a preteen all over again.

**It felt good. I want to know more.**

“Feel free to have a look around,” I offer, gesturing to my head. This time it knows what I mean, and I feel it rifling through my memories. I catch glimpses of myself, jacking off, and with Anne, and with Joel, and some other random hookups. I’m getting stiff in my pants, and I feel Venom pull out of my head, sinking into my body and slithering around and around until it’s pooled in my groin.

It feels warm, tight. It feels… fuck, it feels _good_. Just like I knew it would. There’s a thrill of response from Venom, a shudder that runs through my own response, amplifies it. I get even harder.

**This is good, Eddie. Why did you not tell me?**

“I don’t… I didn’t want--”  
  
**You didn’t want to share it with me.**

It’s not a question. It sounds angry. No, it sounds hurt.

“This is just new territory, okay?” I say, voice rising in panic. My cock aches and I press my hand against it.  “I wasn’t ready for… any of that. With you. It’s just weird. I don’t know.

**It is normal for your kind.**

“It is not normal for my kind to do it with an alien in their body, feeling everything they feel.”

Suddenly there’s a swell of lust inside me, and it feels almost aggressive. I can feel tendrils of Venom extruding from my body, creeping closer to the base of my dick.

**It feels good. Do it. We can do whatever we want. Who will stop us?**

“Venom,” I say, shuddering. “Stop that now.”

**Why? I like how it feels. You do too.**

“I… I don’t want you to make me feel that. Not if you-- not if you don’t.”

I may be a loser, but I’m not going to accept a pity fuck.

**I feel what you feel. I want what you want. I want you to, Eddie. You want to. I do not understand why you hold back.**

“It’s a bonding thing,” I say, breathing hard, pacing around. “It’s something you do with…” I stop talking. <i>Something you do with the person you choose to be with.</i>

 _And who is that,_ I ask myself, deep down where Venom can’t hear. _Who did you choose to be with?_

All at once, I surrender to the idea.

I don’t even have to say anything, Venom feels my resistance melt away and immediately surges into the void.

I find myself falling back onto the couch and just go with it. Venom is manifesting all along my body, and I close my eyes to avoid seeing it; the rippling, sinister bulges under my clothes are just too horror show.

But it doesn’t feel horrible.

From inside and out, Venom is playing my nerves like an orchestra of sensation. Tiny filaments tease my nipples and I arch into it, the pleasure intense and followed by a flood of satisfaction that must be coming from him.

There’s wetness on my face, trailing over my lips. I let my mouth fall open and his tongue snakes inside, <i>alien</i> but not wrong. Venom tastes like me, weirdly; familiar and safe, not strange. I groan around the long, curling tongue, letting it further inside. It should be choking me but it’s not, it fits perfectly down my throat. I want to feel Venom in every space, filling all of my emptiness.

 **This is goooooood, Eddie** , it growls. My cock lurches at the sound of his voice, rumbling with overwhelmed pleasure. Lust roils through me, and I honestly can’t tell which of us it belongs to. But it doesn’t matter. Even if it’s only mine, that’s fine, because what is mine is his.

 **Always, always mine. Yours. Mine**.

Tendrils cascade down my body, under my clothes, stroking and sliding effortlessly into every crevice. I lift up and feel them slide down between my cheeks and _woah_ , that’s too much.

**Relax, this will feel good. Trust us.**

I melt again, into the touches which never end. There’s something wet, almost certainly his tongue, now probing my hole. _Get you a boyfriend who can literally be everywhere all at once,_ I think hysterically. I can feel Venom approving of this sentiment, the warmth of fondness intermixes with an arousal so strong it feels primal.

The probing eases off, becomes a flickering explorations and oooohhhhhhhh fuck, that’s nice. That’s nice. My spine goes liquid and any lingering muscular tension relents. I’m totally at Venom’s mercy. Finally.

**Will this make you come, Eddie?**

I gasp and sigh. Words aren’t really happening right now. I shake my head, though to be honest, I’m not sure.

**Why don’t we find out?**

Venom breaches me with excruciating, painstaking care, pressing in and retreating a dozen times before finally wiggling all the way inside. It likes this, I can tell.

The sound I make is shot through with Venom’s voice. Our voice. A guttural moan with razor-sharp teeth.

It doesn’t stop there, of course it doesn’t. Saliva drips down my crack and eases the way for exploration.

The hell of it is that i probably can come from this alone, but it will take a little bit, and it’s so good it’s like torture, but I’ve been tortured for months. I need to come _right the fuck now_. But I can’t make my mouth form words, there’s just this continuous stream of porno noises coming out, sounding like they’re coming through a subwoofer.

Venom comes through, thank fuck--it slides into my amygdala and finds the quickest answer to the question: _what makes Eddie come?_

A thick tendril snakes around my cock, milking it in way a hand never has, never could. Peristaltic waves cover my shaft, tightening at the head, and combined with the fluid thrusting of it’s tongue...our tongue… fuck...nnnngghhh… **yessssssssss** , we say.

And then I get the answer to my question. _How would Venom come?_ Venom comes like a fucking freight train on acid. More like a bullet train on ecstasy. A shuddering bliss runs through the slick, warm presence that is Venom in my cells, sparks like an electrical storm all through our tissues, lighting up every bit of my brain with pleasure so intense it deserves another name.

We lay in the aftermath, heart pounding, mind blessedly blank for a long time, watching the moonlight shift its path across the floor. Eventually thought returns, and this time I’m really not sure which which thoughts are mine and which belong to him.

Him. Them. I don’t fucking know. _It_ is all wrong.

**Him works. I am you, you are him, I am him too. But it’s we, Eddie. We. And that’s how we come.**


End file.
